Harry Potter and the Opening Riff
by jukehero461
Summary: A young boy with green eyes finds a scuffed cassette player in the park after being beaten by his cousin's gang. Oneshot, young Harry. Read and Review!


Harry's life sucked.

Today in particular, because he hadn't seen Dudley and his gang coming up behind him until he felt the first punch. He'd managed to squeeze away but without a good lead they caught him… what little lunch he had was stolen again, and now he was lying in the bushes on one side of the park trying not to cry.

He was so _tired_ of crying. So tired of crying being all that he could do. None of the adults cared when they saw him show up to class with bruises and bloody scratches… if he was lucky they'd let him go to the nurse's office at school. None of the kids tried to help, Dudley had scared them all into silence years ago… all the neighbors believed the Dursleys when they said he was a good-for-nothing waste of space, and sneered when he limped by.

Painfully, he managed to somehow stumble to his feet and drag himself to the park bench, collapsing into it gratefully. Not for the first time he considered running away… but he had no idea how to live outside his jail cell at the Dursleys… and if he was caught he'd be sent back, and they'd beat him even worse, maybe chain him to the door so he couldn't leave.

Harry didn't notice when the tears ran down his face again. He'd felt them so often it was just a part of his day now.

He sighed, and made to slide off the bench- causing something to rattle as it hit the sidewalk.

Harry looked down at the grey lump of plastic that had fallen. He hadn't even noticed it when he sat down. Picking it up carefully, he recognized it from Dudley's collection of broken presents… a portable cassette player, with headphones.

It looked kinda cheap. The plastic was scratched and scuffed and masking tape held the batteries in. And the headphones were flimsy and their cord was peeling in places… it looked like someone had run it through the washing machine. It was some off-brand piece, the company logo was just a thunderbolt, a little more intricate than the scar on his forehead that the other kids made fun of.

He glanced around, looking for its owner, but other than a few parents pulling their kids to the cars to go home for lunch, there wasn't anyone around. Maybe the owner had left… and from the look of it, left it behind on purpose.

Curiously, Harry poked one of the buttons, and the device made a loud WHIRRR as the tape inside rewound, making Harry start in surprise. He just barely fought the urge to drop it, but the little thing made a small click and started playing. He could hear something in the headphones.

Curiousity overwhelmed the voice in his head that sounded like his uncle, telling him he always knew he was a thief… he placed the headphones over his ears-

" _It's just another summer,_

 _You hear a different drummer,_

 _You're looking for a way to check out from this grind!"_

Harry gaped in shock as the singer started his tune, the drums thumping in the background with guitars strumming in time. At school, they only had nursery rhymes or the tinny things they played on their recorders in music class. And at the Dursleys they never played any music, usually just watching the telly, and the only music on there was so gaudy and annoying…

He'd never heard music like _this!_

" _You wrestle with temptation,_

 _You job is pure frustration!_

' _Cause there's a lifetime chance, you've yet to find!"_

It was hot and charged and Harry felt like he'd put his hand on a burning stovetop, but without the hurt!

" _Still you wonder if you've got the clout to make it happen_

 _In this cold-hearted town!_

 _And you're feelin' that you're trapped,_

 _You wonder should you just stop tryin'"_

Harry winced at the words, suddenly remembering that he was in the middle of the park and listening to someone else's music. He'd get in trouble if one of the neighbors saw and-

" _Well take a message from the man_

 _Who's not afraid to come on strong!"_

He paused, headphones halfway off.

" _When there's magic in the music,_

 _It's the singer, not the song!"_

Harry's eyes widened. The Dursley's _hated_ the idea of magic. Not even Dudley could say the word and go unpunished. Was the singer right, was there magic in music?

" _And when it's comin' from the heart,_

 _All the people sing along!"_

He stared at the little plastic box in wonder, his eight-year-old mind spinning as he thought about it.

" _It's the man behind the music!_

 _It's the singer, not the song!"_

He listened to the rest of the song through a haze, his mind awhirl. Magic in music… it felt right. The way his heart raced, his blood pounded in his ears and how he wanted to sing along, it had to be true!

And if it was, then the Dursleys were wrong, and magic WAS real!

And if they were wrong about magic, then what else were they wrong about?

Maybe he wasn't a freak! Maybe he wasn't a good-for-nothing waste of space! Maybe he was special!

He reached down to rewind the walkman, but had to pause when he saw his arms… scratch-free, no bruises. Hesitating, but with increasing awe, he felt his face.

No lumps. No bruises. No pain from touching the leftovers from hard jabs and kicks.

He couldn't help it, he started laughing. It was true! It was all _true!_

Music was magic!

Hours later, he returned to the Dursleys, humming happily, to the annoyance of his Aunt. She set him to work with dinner, but he didn't mind.

He'd left the walkman on the park bench. He didn't need it now, he could hear the music in his head, and it still wasn't his.

He still felt a little anxious when his Aunt kept glaring at him as he hummed while he cooked dinner, but the notes quickly smothered her looks with stories and feelings and better things.

As he set out the plates and heaped food onto them, he decided to try something. Humming low, he focused on the quieter notes, setting a fourth plate…

He felt his Aunt look towards him, but focused on hiding, on little padded notes, barely noticeable, easily overlooked…

And his Aunt's gaze slid away, even when he heaped the plate high with food.

He beamed brightly, and fought the urge to squeal in joy. He kept humming the notes, practically chanting them, as he put the three plates on the table for his relatives.

He moved to the rickety chair designated for him to eat on, stealing away with his plate… even when it creaked, his Aunt didn't look over.

He started eating, glancing up every couple minutes, but his Aunt was talking to Dudley and his Uncle. None looked over to him, not even to glare!

Half an hour later, he placed his dishes quietly in the sink and ceased humming. Immediately he heard 'BOY! Refill my glass!' from his Uncle.

Hastening to do so, Harry only barely hid a smile as he served his relatives for the rest of the evening, eventually retiring to the cupboard, tired but full for the first time in over a month.

Softly, he started singing;

" _Well give the glory to the man_

 _Who's not afraid to come on strong_

 _When there's magic in the music_

 _It's the singer not the song."_

As his fingertip flickered and then lit up like a small candle, brightening the dark space, Harry's smile was just as bright.

I've always loved Survivor as a group, and _It's the Singer, Not the Song_ has always been one of my favorites. I figure if there's a period-specific song that would get Harry thinking, that might be it.


End file.
